The Clown and the Bazooka
by Random Guise
Summary: Not everyone benefits when a stranger by the name of David Banner visits the town of Hirsute; after all, there's only so much one man can do on a weekly basis. Spoiler: no one gets shot by the bazooka.


**A/N: This is the first use of our random stories. While talking with my son's friend, he asked for a story. Pre-dice and generators, I just picked two completely unrelated objects that came to my mind and a setting. Later that day this was the result.**

 **Not everyone benefits when a stranger comes to town.**

 **David Banner and Jack McGee are characters that do not belong to me, nor do I own a Whoopee ™ cushion.**

The Clown and the Bazooka

This is the story of how a clown made a town laugh again.

Once (or maybe twice) upon a time, there was a town in California called Hirsute (Esperanto for 'needs a razor'). It was a small town, but its people were happy and worked mostly in the one factory in the town, a clustering of squat grey buildings that manufactured fake mustaches. Perhaps the knowledge that these mustaches were being used around the world to make it a better place made the people happy. After all, everyone would be quick to agree that the world would be a much more depressing place without mustaches; to be used as disguises, or prosthetics for those that had lost theirs in a shaving accident (a situation much more common that most would realize).

In this town lived a man named Verksta (Russian for 'harvested beans' although he wasn't aware of the fact) who was a clown. He wasn't a clown simply because he told tokes, made pratfalls and wore greasepaint; he actually had left Hirsute to earn a diploma from clown school. (For the sake of maintaining suspense, we won't disclose at this time in which town the school was located.)

The irony (and every good story needs irony) was that Verksta was a clown in a town that was already happy. He would go about town making balloon animals and pretending to slip on imaginary banana peels, but since the people were already happy and jovial beforehand, he made no noticeable impact. This made Verksta depressed, for a clown needs to cheer people up as much as a flower needs rain, peanut butter needs jelly, or politicians need your money.

Much like a drop of rain in the ocean, Verksta's efforts didn't seem to have much effect. The truth be told, the people tended to think to themselves that Verksta should go into some other line of work like auto mechanic or lawyer because a) auto mechanics were useful and b) there were no law schools nearby and an education at such an institution would keep Verksta away for quite some time.

One day something DID happen. (Of course it did - if not, why bother telling a story where nothing ever changes? Then again this might actually describe some soap operas I've seen.) Far away in another part of the land in a town called Walls Trete evil speculators invested in a Chinese factory to make mustaches for one tenth the cost of what the town of Hirsute could. Retailers across the world switched to the Chinese mustaches and the factory in Hirsute had to close.

Suddenly (or at least very quick-like) factory people had no jobs, stores had no customers, and the battery on my laptop ran down.

(Grabbing a power cable, I continue)

While the town wallowed in misery, Verksta was struck with the thought that these were the perfect conditions for a clown. Armed with his fake doggy doo, knock-knock jokes and other assorted clown stuff, Verksta went out to cheer up the town.

But something wasn't right. With every pole he'd pretend to walk into, every punch line he'd deliver, every Whoopee ™ cushion he'd strategically place, the town remained glum. Verksta returned home and poured over his clown class books, getting coffee on the pages. He then tried pouring AWAY from his class books before reading them, to much greater success. However he finally came to the conclusion that what this town needed was a clown with at least a master's degree; he had stopped after getting his bachelors' degree after not wanting to spend the extra $29.95 for the higher degree. Disgusted with his inability to help the town, he plopped himself down in a chair and flipped on the television. Finding "Missing In Action 7" on, he watched it for the 20th time.

Suddenly Verksta was struck with a solution to the problem. Destroying the mustache factory would eliminate the sight of the very problem oppressing the townspeople and cheer them up! (Let it be stated for the record there is no connection between watching Chuck Norris blow up a country single-handedly and wanting to blow up a mustache factory. Math whiz guys have told us the odds are 2.01 x 10 to the 23rd power to one against such an occurrence, which oddly enough are the same odds as those same math whiz guys having a conversation without using the word 'coefficient'.)

Verksta had met a man who had come into town several weeks prior. Dr. David (Latin for 'David who is a doctor') Banner was once again making his way across the country in search of answers, and found himself in the town of Hirsute; a town with answers all of which were "no". He had managed to find a job at a car wash and was going by the name of 'David Brenner'. His somber tone fit in with the mood of the town and he was quickly accepted. The town's people still marked him as a drifter, but a well-spoken one who kept as low a profile as the beat-up truck he bought from a local.

Verksta wasn't fooled. Although he didn't know the man's story, it involved education and experience; just the kind of depth that he needed to talk about the town's problem. Without giving away his plan, he sought out David to ask his opinion about what the town needed. It took some time; it seemed whenever David hurt his hand washing cars (as anyone who's ever tried to polish the chrome on a '55 Cadillac knows) he would run off and return an hour later with new clothes.

After finally finding David, Verksta described the problem as he saw it and asked David if some type of large event would cheer the people up. David replied he didn't know, not having a masters from clown college either. This was good enough for Verksta, who thanked David and went back home.

Methodically he listed the items he would need to construct a bazooka; an old shipping tube, someone else's beeswax, a coffee can, a dead armadillo, and a few other items that the Department of Homeland Security will not allow us to mention. Before going to bed, he telephoned his friend David to tell him to be sure and be in front of the shutdown factory by 12 noon sharp to see something spectacular. David said that was fine, he would be in the nearby town of Rumbling (English for 'empty stomach') getting his brakes fixed in the morning but would be back in plenty of time; he'd give Verksta a call when he got back in town.

Waking up the next morning, Verksta turned off his alarm clock (one of those fancy ones that had not only had moved the time forward one hour during the night for the time change, but also told you the phase of the moon and the temperature in your basement regardless of whether you had a basement of not), ate breakfast and set about building his bazooka out of normal household items. Completing the task with minutes to go, but no word from David, Verksta took his bazooka (cleverly disguised as a Christmas present even though it was March) and made his way to the factory site on the edge of town.

Meanwhile, David had in fact gone into town that morning. First he went to Buy Mart, then the hardware store, and finally before going to get his brakes fixed he stopped by the post office to get some pre-licked stamps (he suffered from a saliva deficiency.) On the wall of the post office he saw a poster advertising a special being run by the clown college. In big block letters it proclaimed "UPGRADE YOUR BACHELOR'S DEGREE TO A MASTERS FOR ONLY $9.95! LIMITED TME OFFER, HURRY!" This excited David tremendously, not because he had even a bachelor's degree, but he knew his friend Verksta did and wouldn't want to miss out on the huge savings. David ran to his truck and hopped in, and sped off back to Hirsute to tell Verksta. Looking at his watch he saw it was a bit before 11 AM; Verksta was probably still at home. So as he neared the town he planned to continue past the factory to Verksta's house a few blocks away.

Careful readers will now have noted that while Verksta's fancy alarm clock jumped ahead an hour to reset its time automatically for the time change (and by the way his basement temperature was 67), most timekeepers (including David's watch) do not. So it should come as no surprise (except for the characters in our story) when at 12 noon David came roaring around the corner at full speed to find Verksta in the middle of the road.

The town's people saw the whole incident from where they had been gathering along the road. Contrary to what Verksta had thought, nobody had been fooled by the Christmas paper wrapping something distinctly bazooka-shaped, and they knew something was up. So they could only look on, shocked as David's truck bore down on Verksta in the street. David could only look in shock as his truck with its worn brakes squealed and groaned to a stop inches from Verksta. And Verksta could only look on in shock as David's hood ornament (a solid pewter mustache from the factory's 50th anniversary celebration) flew off the truck during its rapid deceleration and struck Verksta in the forehead.

The cadavaberry bush on the side of the road didn't have eyes, so it couldn't see a dazed Verksta stumble and trip over his XXXXL clown shoes before falling into the bush. And the neurotoxins that were part of the bush didn't have any feelings, so they couldn't feel badly about causing Verksta, who was severely allergic to cadavaberries, to expire quickly on the spot. David, who wasn't allergic to cadavaberries, could do nothing except resign himself to leave town and hit the road yet again.

The townspeople gathered around Verksta and silently stared at the clown. At the front of the crowd stood little eight year old Bootsie Smith (she was given the nickname because she always wore gloves) who gawked at the clown for a long time in the shared silence. Turning to speak to her mom, she spoke in what could only be described as her outside voice "That was a funny way to die."

Her mother opened her mouth to scold Bootsie, but before she could chastise her a giggle escaped past her lips. Trying to suppress the giggle only made it worse as she snorted and started laughing in earnest. Soon the whole crowd joined in, and for the first time in months the whole town was smiling, laughing and slapping each other on the back (with the exception of old Mr. Greenson, whose hearing aid battery had gone dead and didn't hear the remark.)

And so Verksta the clown made the town of Hirsute laugh again. Well, not again; in truth it was the first time he had made them laugh, but you know what I mean.

The End.


End file.
